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24th cycle of the moon

Records by Aaron Vandenberg

It was real.

Of course it was real. Time and time again throughout the years, King Arthur graced the summit with his presence. Even with his immortality, with magic itself as his benefactor, the King has not abandoned the mortal realm.

The existence of Camelot should have never been put to question. The roots of the kingdom seemingly reached back into the annals of time. Its overwhelming presence, drastic downfalls, and numerous victories are carefully printed in the records of a vast number of different realms. There are even those alive today, like my own grandfather, who are lucky enough to have seen Camelot right before Emrys magic devoured its people, shrouding it away from the passage of time. 

Yet even then, amidst all of Camelot’s majesty and grandeur, as the years gracefully march forward with each rising of the sun, the kingdom’s physical hold seems to vanish, lost to the infinite void of stories and fantasy.

In my younger years, the elders would weave cautionary fables about the delicate dance between us mortals and the natural world. They reminded us to pick flowers with gentle hands, to collect resources sparingly and with the utmost care. With a mindful heart, nothing shall suffer under your hands, and the forest would give back in abundance. Take too much, and Emrys himself would descend on to the mortal plane to punish you for your greed. 

As I grew older, the narratives of Camelot began to root themselves in reality, for these were the stories that the King shared willingly, the stories brought to us by the lips of the few who dared traverse the threshold between realms.

Once upon a time, the weight of these tales held no sway over my own thoughts. They all but meant to entertain, distant echoes of a world which I’d be a fool to seek.

Yet, as I stood before the towering gates formed of two arching willows, Camelot has become a beacon of purpose for me. This mythical, forbidden kingdom that grows and grows under the canopy of magic and nature itself is rumoured to hold a fountain. A fountain which granted the king his immortality.

As a man of alchemy, I am reluctant to say that the fae realm truly lied beyond all rules, in stone or unsaid. Everything, from the mushroom circle (a mushroom circle!), to the tame griffins and raven hounds, were all utterly beyond my wildest of dreams.

As I took my first steps within Camelot, a world of greater wonder unfurled before me. I couldn't help but be enchanted by its familiar yet foreign beauty. From the palace to the winding streets, everything was covered in a myriad of plants whose hues transcended that of ordinary, colours of which I didn’t even know the human eye could perceive. Amongst this varied vegetation, many species were unknown to me, bearing tantalizing, alluring fruit that could only be forbidden for human consumption.

Goblins darted amongst the children, their mischief getting into them into all kinds of trouble. The elves were trading in the common square, a marketplace of unique craftsmanship, and so many residents with traits I’ve never seen travelling from building to building. Some possessed ethereal glows, while others bore wings, horns and tails of all colours and shapes.

I navigated the thoroughfares in awe, my sense inundated and overwhelmed by the welcomed novelty of… everything. I’d jest, but it truly does feel as if I indulged in some shrooms of the stronger variety. 

It was remarkable, really, a kingdom in which the barriers of the magic and mundane have all but crumbled, leaving only joy amongst the vines and leaves which line every surface. However, as I wandered closer and closer to the royal gardens, amongst all of this magic and unending mysticism, I could only be a realist. No such place would ever exist unless the rulers could command the skies and the seas.

It is believed that Emrys was once human, but I don’t think that could have ever been true. Those who’ve mistaken —the man— the deity I met that day with his ebony wings, his all-seeing eyes, and the demanding, suffocating presence would have had to have been fools.

No. There is no world in which Emrys is mortal.

Without ever touching the running waters myself, it became obvious that although the fountain could undoubtedly heal any and all wounds, immortality could only be granted by Emrys themselves.

Due to my career, in which I take great pride in, I’ve had many opportunities to see the world no others could see, talk to people no others could meet.

I’ve seen him at the summit throughout the years, and his charisma and command are as strong as ever. However, as we conversed within the halls of the Camelot, of everything and anything of intrigue, I can see why he is in nature’s favour. Emrys favour. So young yet so old. So boyish yet so wise. So logical yet so full of whimsy and dream and passion. A man that genuinely wants to do better, be better, it is a rare trait.

Arthur Pendragon, a man that no other can compete. 

Forgive me for not listing this night in paper, my dear, future self, but it was indescribable, and I already know that you know every word and feeling of the events in your memory.

34th cycle of the moon

Records by Aaron Vandenberg

Their blindness was truly, unbelievably, staggering. Fools. All of them. Time and time again I warned them of inciting Emrys’ wrath. Of making Pendragon an enemy. Yet they heedlessly persisted with their reckless plans. The enchanted realm was growing by the minute, and their paranoia and folly seems to have caught on to them. None seemed to grasp the fundamental truth that from the beginning of magic's creation, Albion belonged to them . 

It is, afterall, Destiny.

The Five Kingdoms attacked, and nature ate the flesh of their soldiers as an offering. The trees drank up their blood to quench the seemingly unending thirst. The sunlight burned any who approached too close into a crisp. Those that dwelled in the forest thrived and flourished, all while the rest of the world stood witness to what was believed to be, the end. 

Realization of their arrogance dawned on the fearful far too late. On the last day of the one-sided massacre, etched in the celestial canvas of the sky, a moon of brilliant crimson emerged with an eerie glow. A warning. A reminder. A punishment.

A haunting.

The borders of the ever expanding fae realm is now always limned with an ethereal red. A constant reminder of their costly mistake.

72nd cycle of the moon

Records by Aaron Vandenberg

I haven’t seen him since my visit to Camelot, when I was still a desperate and hopeful young alchemist. 

I was convinced he would never grace us with his presence at the summit again.

I was mistaken. He looks different. Emrys’ seems to have finally taken his hold under the King’s skin. Yet even with the shining red draconic features that now highlight Lord Pendragon’s image, he was just as young as I last saw him.

However, agelessness did not equate to contentment. Far from it, it seems. He’s still unhappy, and that anger can be felt permeating in the air, all across the room, putting even the most promising of knights on edge.

How distant he seemed from that shining king of my memory, eager and excited for what their unending future could offer. I’ll admit, even as the years chase me to my grave, the words we exchanged that night will not be forgotten. 

However, I lament at the transformation. It evokes a sense of sorrow. A poignant vision, now tainted and tarnished by unfortunate events that were completely avoidable.

Granted, who could blame them for their fear? Fault him for his anger? In his now forever long lifetime, what was to us mortals history was but a fleeting chapter of his story, one which is most likely still fresh in the memory of the Once and Future King.

Back then, during the earlier days of my career. I remember chasing immortality like a dying man.

Now, as I steadily approach the final chapters of my journey, I can’t help but reflect. 

What a fool I would have been, to give up this short, wonderful, mortal life of mine.

Records by Aaron Vandenberg